


end in burning flames or paradise

by myrosebudboy



Category: Carry On - Fandom, Rainbow Rowell - Fandom, Snowbaz - Fandom, simon snow - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrosebudboy/pseuds/myrosebudboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: ‘“Oh fuck, oh FUCK.” someTHING ANGTSY WHERE SOME SHIT GOES REALLY WRONG PLEASE’</p>
            </blockquote>





	end in burning flames or paradise

**Author's Note:**

> ~~yes i am taylor swift trash~~
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: it’s my first fic on here and i may have gotten a bit carried away so it’s pretty long ahah. also shoutout to anna - thanks for putting up with me panicking in your inbox!
> 
> tw: suicidal thoughts/mentions, so please don’t read if you don’t do well with those okay <3

Baz slams the door, and he looks up.

Baz hates the sight of him. Bronze curls, blue eyes. Staring at him, eyes always narrowed, like he doesn’t dare to let Baz out of his sight. It’s like he thinks if he looks away for even one second, Baz is going to achieve world domination and kill him while he’s at it.

Baz thinks that when the moment actually arrives, he won’t be able to bring himself to kill him. But this year, he hates him so much that it’s like a burning flame in his chest, and for once it’s a fire he can’t stand, and he thinks that if it comes down to it, he’ll be burning and burning and blazing down everything in his path, anyway. And maybe he’ll burn so much that he’ll take him down, and himself along with it, and this stupid life and these utterly moronic thoughts will end.

(He knows that he’ll probably end up saving that bloody idiot, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley, he doesn’t want to.)

Simon Snow watches him walk across the room with cautious eyes. Baz can feel the wariness radiating off him and can smell the burning scent he’s long since associated with Snow and he can’t decide if he wants to snarl at him or rile him up even more. But he turns away instead, pausing only to grab a clean change of clothes, not meeting his eyes even once, and slips into the bathroom.

(He wonders, not for the first time, if getting kicked out of Watford by breaking the Roommate’s Anathema is worth it, but he’s not going to lose his family’s pride through this. And Natasha Grimm-Pitch isn’t truly anywhere else.)

Baz considers slamming the bathroom door, but he isn’t one for petty childish acts, so he just lets the door shut with a quiet click.

-

He’s around every corner, Baz swears. Murmuring to Penelope Bunce, eating in the Hall, getting patronising looks from the teachers because he can’t keep a proper hold on his magic. Filling their room with the smell of apple-scented soap, always hovering at the back of Baz’s mind, stumbling over his own feet.

And his eyes, always sparking with life. Alight with laughter in the middle of a conversation with Bunce. Staring distrustfully at Baz. Looking at Agatha Wellbelove in a way that makes Baz feel hollow.

When they’re back in their room one night and Baz doesn’t want to look at Snow – hasn’t, for the past few weeks – and the room is dark because they’re supposed to be asleep, Snow’s voice sounds out of the darkness.

“You don’t look well.”

And the words themselves are concerned, maybe, but his tone is bitingly suspicious and border on the sharp edge of outright accusatory, and Baz can’t help himself when he whips around and shoots back, “Mind your own business, Snow. Not all of us can be fucking enthusiastic about life twenty-four seven.”

And he can feel Snow roll his eyes and can feel the waves of anger radiating off him and for some reason he’s satisfied. Because maybe some part of him wants Snow to feel as shit as he makes Baz feel and it’s selfish but if he thinks Baz is the villain, Baz can do selfish. And an unnatural smirk steals across his face, but his eyes don’t glint and he feels no arrogant pleasure and maybe, he thinks, this is what embers feel like, what you feel like when you’ve got nothing left to burn.

-

Snow knows he goes out at night.

And he knows Snow knows.

And he hates Snow even more for it, because he’s visiting his mother, for crying out loud, and he doesn’t like eating where other people can watch him, and he should’ve died down there in the nursery instead of living on as a vampire, and he’s got no patience for Snow along with all these weights. He sits among the bones scattered in the catacombs or darts among the trees of the Wavering Wood wishing fervently for morning to come, where he can avoid Simon Snow and he doesn’t have to listen to him breathing quietly in the next bed and doesn’t have to feel his heart jump despite everything when Snow’s breathing speeds up and he thrashes around because Baz knows he’s having a nightmare, and he doesn’t have to stop himself from running his fingers through Snow’s curls and murmuring that it’s okay.

But he knows that Snow is going to come after him, one day, or ask him where he’s going. And maybe he’ll make Snow angry enough that Snow will go off and he’ll go up in flames like he was supposed to all those years ago. And maybe he’ll be angry enough that he’ll burn, burn the whole place, torch this sections of the catacombs, burn it all away. And maybe that’ll be a favour to the magickal world.

It’s a bitter kind of pleasure when you know that your biggest contribution to the magickal world would be to die.

-

And of course Snow comes after him, and of course he picks a night when Baz is starved for blood, of course he picks a night when he’s still filled with unbearable hatred for himself and for Snow. He can tell that Snow is nearby because the sharp, telling scent of dry, scorched air (if air can even be scorched) fills his nostrils, and he’s instantly on high alert. He spins in a circle, and he’s trying so hard to keep his fangs in but he’s so hungry and he’s never felt more anger and a sort of hollow longing in his life.

He can hear Snow getting closer, hear the oaf crashing through the bracken and bramble of the Wavering Wood, and he braces himself. (And some sort of fear rises up in him, but he won’t recognise it for what it is until later, because right now his mind is blank and all he can think is bronze curls and blue eyes and a sort of feral urge, but to do what, he doesn’t know.)

And then he sees the glint that he’s seen so many times when it’s dark in their room and Snow is sleeping and the moonlight slanting through their room’s window sparks off his curls. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t shout, doesn’t say anything, just sits there and waits for Snow to find him.

Snow emerges into the clearing, immediately spotting in, and of course, of course the first thing that comes out of Baz’s mouth is “Snow. Wandering round the Wavering Wood at night? How disappointed would your Mage be with you?”

Simon Snow’s eyes, originally dull from the walking and from tiredness, light up again, and his face flushes a light red. And Baz thinks, if Simon Snow’s eyes alight with life is the last thing he sees, maybe this isn’t so bad.

And Simon opens his mouth to retort, and they’re off, they’re always off like this, and they’re shouting at each other and yelling and this is the same as usual but they both can tell that there’s something slightly off. This time the insults spit from their mouths like poisoned darts aimed straight for the other’s heart and this time, they’re putting all their heart into every word they’re saying and this time they’re screaming like their lives depend on it, words of _“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”_ and _“You’re disgusting, you’re vile, you’re poisonous, I don’t even know how your family stands you!”_ and _“You can shut up!”_ flying across the clearing at each other. They’re bellowing at each other and Baz can feel the fire in his palms fighting fiercely to get out of him but he doesn’t want to. And he knows that this would happen and even as he holds the fire back he’s cursing himself because every word Simon is saying is hitting home and he can feel his resolve crumbling, feel himself wanting to burn himself and every mark he’s ever left on this earth away and into oblivion.

He can feel the air grow more prickly like it’s filled with static and he can’t smell anything except the scent of Simon’s burning and he knows he’s pushing him to his breaking point, can feel the two of them losing control, and he wonders if tis is how it will all end, the both of them dying at each other’s hands after years of being at each other’s throats. They shout and they scream and they yell and every bit of hatred and every bit of something else they’ve ever felt for each other is pouring out of them and Baz feels like he’s baring his soul but he can’t stop and so he just keeps flinging every weapon in his arsenal at Simon and someone do it someone lose it someone explode someone make it stop pleasemakeitstop please

And then he feels the sudden sparking, and he feels his strength suddenly crumble, and he feels like the air explodes. And Simon is going off, like a supernova, and fire is pouring out of his palms, lighting the ground around him, and Simon going off has added to the force and power of the blazing flames. And he knows that once a fire reaches a certain size and once a mage has lost the focus needed to stop it, there’s nothing anyone can do. And he doesn’t try to move, doesn’t try to cast any protection on himself, doesn’t try to do anything at all.

He can hear Simon shouting, screaming, going “oh fuck, oh FUCK,” but he knows with Simon’s current state of mind and his lack of control over his own magic there’s no way he can stop this fire. And just before the fire hits him, he finds the strength to cry a loud, _**up, up and away**_ at Simon, and then the fire hits his hands, and he’s just got enough time to comprehend that his last act was to save Simon Snow, but it doesn’t take him long because he supposes he knew if it came to this end, it would have ended this way, wouldn’t have ended differently even if he was given the chance to do it a hundred times, a hundred different ways.

The fire washes over him and he can hear Simon shouting in the distance but then he can’t breathe and he feels scorching pain and then


End file.
